She grabbed her bag out of her locker and rooted around for her phone. There was only one voice she wanted to hear right now: Josh’s. But when she pulled out her phone, she paused.
She had seven missed calls and four texts. Three of the texts were from Marta.
Call me ASAP!!!
Check ur phone Em!
Have you seen Facebook??
A cold sense of dread crept into her chest. Her fingers moved clumsily as she jabbed at her phone to open Facebook. There was a new video up on her wall. It had been posted by someone named Jane Doe, whose profile picture was a bright red question mark. The dread slithered into Emerson’s limbs, making it hard to move.
It took a few seconds for the video to sharpen into focus.
In it, Emerson was standing in front of a mirror at the Seagull Inn, wearing her cheerleading skirt and a red bra. She looked nervous, but at the sound of footsteps behind her, she brightened. A man walked into the camera frame. He was shirtless, and you could see his defined muscles as he walked toward Emerson. His face was blacked out, but the camera caught a clear shot of his salt-and-pepper hair. There was no doubt he was older.
It was a video of her and Matt Morgan—town fire chief and Sydney’s father—from their night at the Seagull Inn.
In the video, the faceless man stopped in front of Emerson and ran his hands—big, rugged man hands—down her bare arms. And then they were kissing, tangling together, Emerson’s skirt riding up and Matt’s pants riding down and no music, no background noise, only the sound of their breathing growing heavier and heavier. Just as the man went to unclip her bra, the video went black.
Underneath there was already a slew of comments.
Slut it up, Emerson!
Is that someone’s DAD?
OMG, he’s ancient!!!!
At least he’s hot…
Daddy complex much?
Emerson couldn’t move. She couldn’t even blink. By tonight the whole town would know. Maybe not Matt’s name, but the act. She imagined her friends, her classmates, her teachers all watching this.… What if Josh saw it, just when things were finally getting back on track with them?
I fight dirty. It was exactly what the darer had promised.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tuesday, 7:30 AM
Sydney knew the minute she walked into school. She knew from the darting looks, all squinty eyes and curled-up lips. She knew from the sound: that buzz that builds out of laughter and whispers, like a swarm of bees homing in on its victim. It had happened to Tenley and Emerson, and now it was happening to her.
Something small and round smacked her back. A crumpled-up photograph. As she knelt to pick it up, she was consumed by the urge to destroy it, tear it up. But she couldn’t. She had to know.
The photo smoothed out easily in her hand. A younger version of herself stared up at her from the glossy page. It had been taken at the Sunrise Center. She was on a softball field during one of the games she played in. The bold yellow logo stood out on her black team shirt. SUNRISE CENTER FOR REHABILITATION.
Across the top of the photo, someone had scrawled a single word in all caps: PYRO.
The hallway had frozen, all eyes on her. “They gave a pyro a scholarship to Winslow?” someone said loudly, making laughter sprinkle through the hallway.
It was her best-concealed secret, and now it was out.
The photo slipped out of her fingers. For what felt like an eternity, she stood there frozen, watching it flutter to the ground. “Need a match?” someone called out. The voice shook her out of her stupor, and suddenly she was moving, down the hall, to anywhere else. She kept her eyes cast to the ground, but, still, on every side she heard them: the sneers, the whispers. She bumped into one person, then another, but she just kept going. Her feet carried her automatically to the darkroom. She didn’t stop until its door slammed shut behind her, and there was darkness, and peace.
She slid to the floor in the dark, trying to catch her breath. She had no idea how the darer had gotten that photo. She certainly didn’t have a copy of it. Then again, she had no idea how the darer had gotten that video of Tenley. Or the one of Emerson. She shuddered, trying to banish that last image from her mind. Everyone else might be wondering who the mystery man going at it with Emerson was, but she knew. It was Sydney’s dad.
She rested against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. The darer had done this to break her, but she’d been a pariah before. She could handle it again. Because she had her secret weapon: an escape plan. One day soon she’d be at RISD, and then Winslow would be nothing more than a speck in her past.
Slowly, her breathing returned to normal. With a sigh, she stood up and switched on the light. A red glow descended on the windowless room. The space was as messy and crowded as always, so it took her a second to register it.
Photos.
They were littered everywhere. And every single one was destroyed—burned to a crisp.
Sydney reached for one. The photo was so singed it was hard to make out the image. But one corner was intact, and Sydney recognized it instantly. It was a shot of the ocean taken from the Anaswan lighthouse. She’d spent hours developing that photo, again and again, until she got it just right. She grabbed the remains of several more photos. They were all hers, images she’d spent weeks perfecting. In the back of the room, shreds of a manila envelope were scattered on the floor. She dropped to her knees, gathering them up. Fragments of a familiar address flashed up at her. RHODE ISLAND SCHOOL OF DESIGN.
How? She’d left her scholarship application in the college counselor’s outbox yesterday! Someone must have stolen it out of the box. Which meant it had never been mailed.
The handwritten pages of her application were strewn across the row of developing bins, big X’s slashed through each one. Propped up against the last bin was a note.
You’ll never escape.
A strangled noise slipped out of Sydney. RISD was her shot at leaving Echo Bay, at becoming something more. And now the darer wanted to take that from her, too.
She moved furiously through the room, gathering up the remaining photos. For years she’d felt like a misfit at Winslow, an extraterrestrial who’d touched down in a foreign colony. But RISD had always been this sparkling star, shining above her, beckoning her home. And now it was gone.
She lunged for the door. She had to get away: from this room and this building and everything the darer had soiled. She yanked the door open and threw herself into the hall.
“Syd!” She heard Calum’s voice before she saw him. She spun around to find him jogging toward her, his blond curls winging into a halo around his head. He was holding one of the PYRO photos in his hand.
“Please get me out of here,” she begged. She could feel the eyes lighting on her again from every side. “Anywhere.”
“This way.” Calum took her elbow and guided her out a side exit. The door opened into the wide corridor that connected Winslow’s lower and upper schools. Sydney took a deep breath, drinking in the solitude.
“Thank you,” she said after a moment. She slid to the ground and tucked her knees under her chin.
Calum dropped down cross-legged next to her, crumpling the photo in his grip. Shiny tiled walls stretched out on either side of them, blurring into a mosaic on the ceiling: a blue tile ocean arcing above them. “I’ve been looking for you ever since I saw this photo.” He tugged at the zipper on his lime-green sweatshirt. “I can’t believe someone would do that.”
“I can.” Sydney closed her eyes, reveling in the silence. There was a small echo in the corridor, and it amplified her breathing. “I used to believe that everyone had some goodness in them. But I’m starting to think I was wrong.”
She opened her eyes. Calum was watching her intently. Tiny flecks of green floated in his brown eyes, catching the light. He scooted closer, putting a hand on her knee. The simple gesture made her want to cry. She hadn’t spoken to Calum since he’d tried to kiss her at the homecoming dance on Saturday. She knew
he’d been hurt when she pulled away. But now here he was, putting that aside to comfort her. It made her wonder if she’d made the wrong choice that night.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I needed this. A friend.” She met his gaze. There was a fierceness in his eyes she couldn’t quite read. Protectiveness, she thought.
“It’s going to be okay, Syd.” His voice was gentle and sure. “Gossip like this always passes eventually. If anyone can vouch for that, it’s the computer nerd.” He gave her a small smile, and she couldn’t help but smile back. A curl slipped onto Calum’s forehead, and Sydney pushed it off without thinking.
They were so close. She could smell the fresh scent of his clothes, as if he’d just pulled them out of the laundry. One more inch and they’d be kissing, and suddenly she wanted it—wanted to let it sweep her away, carry her off to oblivion. But before she could act on the urge, the door on the other end of the corridor swung open. A high-pitched voice spilled in, followed by the distant drone of construction drifting in from the lower school’s field.
“Mr. Michaels is sooo cute!” The voice belonged to a small, bony girl. Her long-legged friend tripped into the corridor after her.
Sydney pulled back, blinking hard. As the girls hurried past them, Calum glanced at his watch. It was digital, with a dozen flashing symbols and numbers, and several tiny buttons protruding from each side. Knowing Calum, Sydney suspected that it was the highest-tech watch money could buy. Calum didn’t flaunt his wealth, but when it came to technology, Sydney knew, he couldn’t resist. “We should probably get to class,” he said.
“You go,” Sydney told him. “I can’t have you tarnishing your valedictorian status.” She managed a tiny grin in his direction. “I’m going to stay and think awhile.”
“I can skip class and keep you company,” Calum protested. “It wouldn’t exactly be cataclysmic.”
“Now that you used an SAT word on me, it would be.” She waved him toward the school. “Really, go ahead. I’ll follow soon.”
Calum started toward the school, then paused, turning back. “I’m here if you need me, Syd. I will even refrain from using four-syllable words if that’s preferable.”
This time, Sydney’s grin was a little easier to call up. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
A half hour later, Calum was long gone, and Sydney was still sitting in the corridor. She’d checked her phone five times already, expecting to find a gloating text from the darer. But so far, nothing. She’d called the RISD admissions office, too, and left a message begging for an emergency extension on her application. Now all she could do was wait. Wait to hear from RISD. Wait to hear from the person who was ruining her life.
She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands as the words from that text ran through her mind for the thousandth time. I fight dirty. Now that she, Emerson, and Tenley had all been hit in this latest blitz, she couldn’t help but wonder: What next? It made her feel as if a sledgehammer were hanging over her head, and she was just waiting for it to fall.
She pulled out her phone yet again. Still no callback from RISD. She had one new e-mail, though. When she saw who it was from, she nearly dropped her phone in surprise. Joey Bakersfield.
When they were younger, Joey and Sydney had been close friends. They’d grown apart over the years, but then the darer had pulled Joey into this twisted game: first forcing Sydney to kiss him, then framing Joey for everything. Until Tricia came forward claiming to be the darer, Sydney had actually believed Joey was responsible. She and Tenley had gone so far as to report it to the police. They’d dropped the charges after Tricia revealed herself, but the damage had already been done. Joey had left Winslow and enrolled at Danford, a fancy boarding school an hour away in Boston. Sydney had sent Joey two e-mails apologizing for everything, but she’d never heard back. Until now.
Sydney,
I know this e-mail comes late. To be honest, I hadn’t planned on responding at all. Not because of the accusation; that I could get over. It was what happened before that… and how horrified you seemed after. For a second, I thought something was happening between us. But then you’d acted like I’d done something wrong.
Sydney gnawed on her lower lip. She knew he was talking about the kiss. After Tricia had dared her to kiss Joey, Sydney had gone through with it in a haze of emotion: anger and confusion and, worst of all, terror. Joey clearly hadn’t known what hit him. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to keep reading.
But then today I heard about what happened with Delancey Crane. It must have been awful to witness a suicide like that. I know what the Winslow clones can be like: dead set on acting like the whole town is perfect, like nothing is wrong even when something so clearly is. I used to feel like such a freak for refusing to drink the Echo Bay Kool-Aid. But coming to Danford helped me see everything more clearly. Before I left, Echo Bay felt so haunted with memories. I can only imagine how it feels for you now. I just wanted you to know that there IS a nonbrainwashed Echo Bay-er out there, if you ever need one to talk to.
~Joey
Sydney stared at the e-mail for a long time after reading it. She couldn’t believe how different Joey sounded. At Winslow, he’d always been so quiet and miserable. But in this e-mail he actually sounded happy. And sweet, too. Maybe Winslow had been what was poisoning him all along.
A second e-mail popped up in her in-box from Joey. PS. Did you hear about this? He’d included a link. It took Sydney to a page on RISD’s website. Prospective Students Fair, the page read. Sydney scanned it over.
WHEN: Friday, 4–6 PM
WHERE: The Covington Building, Boston
WHY: Meet RISD’s top professors and admissions officers!
*All early-admissions applicants strongly encouraged to attend!*
Sydney jumped to her feet. She had to be at that fair on Friday. Which meant she had to somehow redo and resubmit her entire scholarship application before then. Maybe then RISD would still consider her. It was a long shot… but it was her only shot. She took off through the lower-school entrance, hurrying out to her car. She’d earned a day off from school.
Ten minutes later she made a quick stop inside her apartment building to get the mail, something her mom was always forgetting to do. As she scooped up the pile of junk and bills, she noticed a large white envelope sticking out from amid the smaller ones. She gasped when she saw the handwriting on the front of it. When had Guinness sent her a package?
Guinness, her ex-more-than-friend-but-not-quite-boyfriend, and also Tenley’s stepbrother, had been found passed out from an overdose on Friday. He’d been rushed to the hospital and then straight to rehab. But not before Sydney learned the truth. The darer had set Guinness up—laced his weed and tried to kill him. All because he “knew too much.” About what, Sydney wasn’t sure.
She glanced at the postmark on the envelope as she hurried up to her apartment. Friday. Guinness must have mailed this the day he accidentally ODed. The thought gave her the strangest feeling, as if she were about to come face-to-face with a ghost.
She waited until she was safely locked inside her apartment to open the envelope. A stack of papers was shoved inside. She felt jittery as she pulled it out. On top was a note, scribbled in Guinness’s messy handwriting.
Blue—
I need you to see this, but I don’t think it’s safe for us to talk right now. I’m being watched, followed… I can feel it. Remember how you were asking me about Kyla Kern? I wasn’t completely honest. I do know something more. I think Kyla was being harassed before her death. Proof is in this envelope. Promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t let anyone see you. I’ve been getting notes—threats—and I don’t want them to start for you, too.
~G
The page wobbled in Sydney’s grip. Kyla Kern, along with Meryl Bauer and Nicole Mayor, were Echo Bay’s original Lost Girls: three beautiful local girls who, over the years, had each died in the ocean during Echo Bay’s historic Fall Festival. Meryl Bauer—Calum’s older sister—was the very f
irst Lost Girl. She died in a boating accident ten years ago. Nicole Mayor’s death had come during the Fall Festival four years later, and Kyla Kern’s the year after that.
With their deaths arrived the ghost lights—three lights flickering mysteriously over the Phantom Rock—as well as talk of a curse. The Fall Festival was banned. But five years later, it was back. This fall, Echo Bay had once again celebrated. On the last day of the festival, Tricia had taken them all out on the yacht, and both she and Caitlin had died. Many in town believed the curse was alive once more, but Sydney knew it was something else—something far worse—at work.
Last week Sydney had tracked down a photo that had been missing from Kyla Kern’s accident report. The report named an electrical fire as the cause of Kyla’s death, but the missing photo showed a crater in the float that could never have been made by fire. Instead, it looked as if someone had thrown an explosive at Kyla’s float—and then hidden the photo to cover it up.
Was Guinness’s package further proof that her hunch was right, that Kyla’s death was no accident? Sydney sank down on the couch, flipping through the first few pages of the packet. They were phone records that belonged to a local number, labeled Kyla Kern. The same unlisted number appeared in them over and over again. Guinness had highlighted their call times. He’d scribbled in the margin: 2 seconds. 1 second. 3 seconds. Hang-ups? Then: STALKER???
Sydney shuffled to the next page. Behind the phone records were two folded slips of paper. The first was old and worn, crumpled around the edges. A Post-it was affixed to the front of it. Found in Kyla’s belongings, Guinness had written on it. Gingerly, she unfolded it.
Kiss and Tell Page 3